


To be real...

by artfulinanities



Series: Just Some Tumblr Things... [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, these two idiots will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artfulinanities/pseuds/artfulinanities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s can feel his cheeks flushing an alarming shade of red and he clears his throat, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. “Harry, well, she may have told them that we’re…dating.”</p>
<p>Sherlock sits there and blinks at him, his face taking on the same pinched, confused look he had work when John had asked him to be his best man. </p>
<p>“Sherlock?” John waves a hand in front of him, sighing when there’s no response. “Right. Okay, then.” He turns the kettle on, making two mugs of tea, and taking the seat next to Sherlock just as he clicks back on line.</p>
<p>“Harry told your parents that I’m…”</p>
<p>“Dating me,” John confirms with a nod.</p>
<p>“Your boyfriend?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be real...

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt from a fabulous anon on Tumblr: "I wish you would write a fic where ... the boys pretend to be boyfriends for the sake of one of their parents."
> 
> Thank you, Nonny. This was so much fun to write!

“Sherlock?” John clenches his jaw, relaxes it, and clenches it again, fingers twitching at his side. Sherlock glances up from his microscope, frowning. His eyes flit over John’s rigid form, making him squirm.

“Yes?”

“My parents are having a celebration this weekend. Will you come with me?”

Sherlock sighs, hands fiddling with the coarse focus of his microscope. “John, you know that social settings are not my preferred environment.”

“I know.” John rubs at the back of his neck, feeling nerves bubbling in his belly, hot and cold. “It’s just…they’re expecting you.”

Startled, Sherlock’s head jerks up. “Why on earth would they be expecting me?”

John’s can feel his cheeks flushing an alarming shade of red and he clears his throat, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. “Harry, well, she may have told them that we’re…dating.”

Sherlock sits there and blinks at him, his face taking on the same pinched, confused look he had work when John had asked him to be his best man. 

“Sherlock?” John waves a hand in front of him, sighing when there’s no response. “Right. Okay, then.” He turns the kettle on, making two mugs of tea, and taking the seat next to Sherlock just as he clicks back on line.

“Harry told your parents that I’m…”

“Dating me,” John confirms with a nod.

“Your  _boyfriend_?” 

John blinks at him, smiling softly. “I said it’s all fine, yeah?” 

“But why?”

“It’s their anniversary. Harry got a bit ahead of herself. So, will you come?”

Sherlock nods slowly, staring down at the floor between them. “I…yes. Of course.”

“Good. That’s good. I’ll just go and start packing, then.” John sets his mugs aside, trailing out of the room and up the stairs, missing the way Sherlock’s eyes follow him even after he’s out of sight.

The journey out to his parent’s place is uneventful, Sherlock deducing the other passengers on the train to pass the time, whispering in John’s ear and putting him in danger of snorting his tea from his nose more than once. Harry is there to meet them at the station, a perfect replica of her brother from the sort hair to the awful jumpers, painfully sober, but cheery enough to give Sherlock a salacious wink as she jerks her chin in John’s direction. They pile into a small car, Harry prattling away as they wind through the empty roads, pulling up to a sturdy brick house covered in ivy and window boxes filled with all manner of greenery. 

“Welcome to the ol’ Watson abode,” Harry crows, leaping from the car and darting around to the boot. She passes John and Sherlock their cases, leading them up the gravel path and through the front door. John breathes in the smell of his childhood home, smiling at the memories that linger there. 

“Johnny!” He turns and is promptly smothered by his mother, her silver hair mashed against his face.

“Hi, mum.” John peels himself away, pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek.

“And this must be Sherlock!” His flatmate is treated to the same barrage of kisses and hugs, looking properly stunned by the whole ordeal, just managing to press a polite kiss to John’s mother’s cheek before she bustles away in a flurry of floral apron ends and flour. “Charlie! Charlie! The boys are here!”

John’s stomach drops and he squares his shoulders, raising his chin to meet his father’s gaze as the man himself rounds the corner. Charles Watson is stocky like his son, with the same severe set to his jaw and the dour slant of his eyebrows, but there’s a steeliness to his gaze that John’s own blue eyes are missing, a harshness to the set of his mouth where John’s lips are prone to smiling.

“John.”

“Hullo, dad.”

“And you’re Sherlock?” Sherlock stands next to John, nodding, his posture impeccable. Charlie looks him up and down before turning away and sauntering into the kitchen without another word.

“Yeah,” John whispers, leaning against Sherlock with a sigh. “He’s always like that.”

Dinner is a quiet affair with John’s mother providing most of the conversation, filling John in on all of the local happenings as the names of the relatives who will be attending the small party. John nods dutifully, smiling when he should and making vague noises of interest to keep the conversation flowing. Sherlock participates quietly, asking polite questions and laughing at Harry’s crass jokes. It’s distressingly normal, and John wishes that it were real, despite the frostiness on his father’s part. He helps clear the plates, smiling when Sherlock joins him, leaning into the gentle touch at his waist.

“Alright?” Sherlock murmurs against his ear, body warm and solid against John’s.

“Yeah. Thanks. This…means a lot.”

Sherlock offers a small smile, setting his stack of plates on the counter. “Anything for you, John.” He leaves without another word, ducking back out to gather more dishes. Ellen bustles in, giving John a knowing smirk.

“He’s a nice young man. Pity it took you so long to figure things out.”

“Mum,” John groans, fiddling with the kettle.

“I may be pants at technology, Johnny, but I followed your blog. You were mad about him and then…”

“I know.”

“How is Mary?”

John’s jaw twitches and he leans back against the counter. “Fine. Doing well in the States.”

“I never liked her. Too secretive. Your father thought she was some sort of spy or the like, the way she just popped up out of nowhere.” John laughs bitterly. Close enough. His father has always been terribly shrewd. “But Sherlock…well, I like him.”

“I do, too,” John murmurs, finally admitting it aloud, a weight lifted from his chest. “Pity dad can’t accept stuff like that.”

“Oh, Johnny.” Ellen pats him gently on the arm, her hands damp from the dishwater. “He’ll come around.”

“Right. I’m just going to…” John gestures vaguely in the direction that Sherlock disappeared in, leaving the kitchen and his mother’s prying behind. Harry smiles at him from the sitting room, nodding her head in the direction of the back porch. John waves in thanks, shuffling towards the door and pausing at the low hum coming from the patio.

“So, you and John.” Charlie’s voice is low, rough with cigarette smoke, but thankfully crisp and clear, not slurred with drink. John can see the faint outline of Sherlock’s profile, a lit cigarette clasped between his fingers. Charlie stands beside him, a pipe clenched in one hand.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, taking a drag and blowing smoke up into the chilly night air.

“So which one of you takes it up the arse?” John groans inwardly and Sherlock chokes on his inhale, coughing violently. 

“I hardly think that’s any of your business,” Sherlock rasps, wiping his eyes. Charlie laughs, puffing on his pipe.

“You’re a sharp one, good lad. Better than that wife of his. I may not like the way you live, but I’m glad you make him happy.” Sherlock blinks down at Charlie, mouth hanging open.

“I…thank you.”

“You care. I can tell. You watch him like I watch my Ellen.”

Sherlock looks away, taking a drag from his cigarette to stall for time. He lets out a slow breath, pale plumes of smoke tumbling from his lips. “I do. Deeply.”

“Good.” Charlie pushes off the railing, bringing his pipe inside for a cleaning. He catches sight of John hovering in the shadows and gives him a firm nod, the smell of tobacco lingering in his wake. Taking a deep breath, John steps outside, strolling over to stand beside Sherlock.

“Those things will kill you.”

“Consider it an incentive for me given the strenuous social gathering I’ll be forced to endure tomorrow,” Sherlock drawls, stubbing the but out in the ashtray perched on the railing.

“Thank you for this. It means a lot.” John leans his head against Sherlock’s arm, starting at the tremors that make Sherlock’s form shake. “Alright?”

“I want it to be real, John,” Sherlock whispers, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“It is. Has been for a long time, I think.” John reaches up and pulls Sherlock down by the collar of his dramatic coat, kissing him deeply, nose wrinkling at the taste of cigarettes lingering on Sherlock’s eager tongue. He pulls back with a smile, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s nose. Sherlock blinks down at him, lips moving silently, hands clinging to John’s hips.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” John settles his head under Sherlock’s chin, listening to the frantic beating of his heart. “But you’ll have to lay off the cigarettes if you want me to keep kissing you. Bad for your health and all.”

Sherlock chuckles, stooping to press a chaste kiss to John’s lips. “Only a fool argues with his doctor.”

**Author's Note:**

> Drop by and say hello on [my Tumblr](http://artfulinanities.tumblr.com/)


End file.
